


Doesn’t Feel Anything Like Sinking

by oneoneandone



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:29:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28384785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneoneandone/pseuds/oneoneandone
Summary: The only way she’s going to get any sleep is to go over and help.Or, Christen is a nurse and her apartment walls are really thin.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Comments: 8
Kudos: 154





	Doesn’t Feel Anything Like Sinking

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt**   
>  _Ill take care of you_

At first, it’s annoying, how thin the walls of her apartment are. How she can hear every argument between Mr and Mrs Mazzoli on the other side of her living room. And even though the old couple only bickers about the strangest things—the last one she’d over heard had been about whether their new cat should be another tabby or one of the sad looking black kittens the kid on the first floor was trying to regime—and even though it’s mostly adorable, it can still get a little tiresome.

It didn’t become wholly maddening, though, until her new neighbor moved in right before the onset of autumn. When suddenly there was music and conversation and the echo of the television all just loud enough to get into her head, to disturb the moments of calm, few and far between, that Christen managed to find in her limited time at home. And then, then there was the shared bedroom wall.

That … that was another story all on its own. And one Christen tried not to think about, tried not to wonder about any more than she had to. Any more than to be impressed at the obviously impressive stamina of her neighbor and her guests.

Of course, that problem had solved itself when quarantine started. Christen didn’t particularly like the tall, lean brunette who so often disturbed the little sleep she could catch between grueling shifts at the hospital, but at least she seemed to be taking the whole social distancing thing to heart. And it was a lot easier to roll over and block out The Eagles and The Rolling Stones and Elton John—the woman seemed to be on a classic rock kick lately?—than the moans and grunts, the gasps and sighs, the furious familiar pounding of a bedframe against a wall that had been more common before COVID.

But now, on her first day off in over a week, it’s not music disturbing her sleep, not voices, not even—and how strange is it that Chris would prefer this—the sounds of someone getting laid really, really well. Instead, it’s a sound that has haunted her dreams of late—waking and sleeping. A deep and hacking cough, a cough that just will not stop.

Finally she gives in. After what feels like hours, Christen rolls out of bed, a grumpy, frustrated exhaustion propelling her through the motions of pulling on an old nursing school hoodie, slipping her feet into a pair of crocs, and throwing open her door to stand in front of her neighbor’s, knocking hard, mask already in place. And she’s almost ready to call the super, to get someone to come and unlock the door, citing a public health emergency, when the occupant opens the door a crack, staying out of sight behind the oddly (for a place with such thin walls) thick wooden door.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the woman says, her voice rough, but Christen just sighs, pushing against the door and feeling the other woman give behind.

“You’re sick,” Christen can just about see her neighbor now, wrapped in a thick duvet, appreciating the way the woman is trying to use her shirt as a makeshift mask. And inwardly she rolls her eyes at the obvious observation, but the woman begins to cough again, and at last Christen is able to slip through the doorway, into the apartment that is the mirror image of her own.

She realizes how ridiculous it is that she doesn’t know the woman’s name as they stand there in the entryway, watching as her neighbor tries to tell her to leave inbetween the wracking coughs. No time like the present, Christen figures, and gives the woman what she hopes is an encouraging smile.

“I’m Chris,” she introduces herself, “I live in 6B. I’m a nurse, and I heard you coughing?” It’s not a question, but something about the way the other woman’s fevered eyes go wide at the realization that she could be heard through the wall makes her reevaluate the months of festering dislike. Maybe—maybe she didn’t realize, maybe she didn’t even know.

It takes a moment until the woman can speak clearly, but she holds out her hand—retracting it immediately when she remembers what kind of crazy world they’re living in right now—and then introduces herself. “Tob—Tobin,” she says with a scratchy voice. “And it’s not COVID, I swear. I got tested when I first got sick on Monday.” Christen nods, a little more at ease to hear it as the woman, Tobin, continues. “I mean, I can show you the paperwork?”

But the nurse shakes her head. “I believe you,” she takes a step closer, “but you still sound pretty bad. Did you get your flu shot this year?” She rolls her eyes when Tobin shakes her head sheepishly. “Let me guess,” Christen continues, “you’re not afraid of a little influenza.” And she’s pretty sure that if the woman with the pretty brown eyes wasn’t already flushed with fever, she’d be blushing with embarrassment.

“Okay,” Christen’s training takes over, “well, let’s see you make that same mistake next year.” But her voice is kind and her hands are gentle as she leads her neighbor back toward the bedroom. And for her part, Tobin doesn’t resist. Which, Christen is pretty sure, is just evidence of how absolutely wrecked she’s feeling.

“You don’t have to help,” the other woman says, breaking into a miserable cough before the last word has officially left her mouth. But Christen just shakes her head.

“It’s my job,” she says, looking over the temporary sickroom, taking it all in: the kleenexes, the sweat-damp sheets, that still and stale air. “Plus,” Christen adds as she begins to strip the bed, opening a window for just a smidge of fresh air, “I’m pretty sure it’s the only way either of us are going to get any sleep.”

Soon enough the other woman is tucked into a freshly-made bed, sipping at a cup of steaming hot tea. “You know,” Tobin rasps, “I always wondered what you did for a living. I’d see you come in at the strangest hours, or like, you’d be gone for days. At first after this all started I thought maybe you’d done what everyone else was doing and escaping the city?”  
  


The nurse shakes her head. “No such luck,” she gives her neighbor a rueful smile. “I’ve been working on the COVID unit since pretty much the start of it all.” And she feels Tobin take her hand, squeeze it reassuringly.   
  


“That must be hard,” she says softly. “I’m sorry.” And for the first time since March, Christen feels a little of the tall wall anxiety that has centered around her heart begin to crumble.   
  


She wipes at her eyes, the tears that have appeared there, shrugging her shoulders. “It is what it is,” Christen says softly, looking anywhere but Tobin’s sympathetic eyes. But Tobin doesn’t let go of her hand just yet. She continues to stroke her thumb over the nurse’s palm until Christen feels the walls come tumbling down. “It’s—it’s just been really lonely,” she whispers, and looks up, seeing the soft expression her neighbor is giving her.  
  


”Maybe when this—,” Tobin gestures to the Kleenex and tea and the bottle of NyQuil on the nightstand, “—is over, I can help with that? Repay the favor of you looking out for me? Help look after you?”

And Christen wipes at her eyes, and nods. “I’d like that,” she whispers, “I really would.”

**Author's Note:**

> “Crystal Clear,” Hayley Williams


End file.
